


Salvation in a Soapsud

by nicky69



Category: CSI, CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, Las Vegas (TV 2003)
Genre: Gen, POV Outsider, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 13:09:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3730126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicky69/pseuds/nicky69
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes in the most unexpected of places we are lucky enough to meet a special someone who changes our lives irrevocably for the better. Betaed by those lovely ladies, elmyraemilie and ilovemycsi. Any mistakes you find are my own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Salvation in a Soapsud

** Salvation in a Soapsud **

****

‘Round and round and round they go, and where they stop nobody knows.' I chuckle a little to myself, amused by my own wit; but all the while my eyes are scanning the open doorway and the little chunk of parking lot that is visible outside. I try not to look to too anxious, like I’m waiting for him, but I am.

 

How many times did I come here before I met him? How many empty hours were spent in solitude? Loneliness drove me from my small, stifling apartment to this place. It’s a world away from the quiet of my home, but for all the noise and the bustle of the others present I still felt isolated.

 

I had a life once. I had a man who loved me, friends, a future; all are gone now. All that remains are memories, broken dreams and the inevitable march to the grave. I shall have no fear of death when it comes to claim me, but perhaps now I have a reason not to hasten its arrival.

 

It seems silly now but the first time I met him I was trying to fold my laundry on my own and not making a very good job of it. The bed sheets in my hands seemed too big a job for one person to handle, but what was I to do?

 

“Oh, darn it!” I had muttered under my breath as I continued to battle the recalcitrant sheets. Then I heard it, his voice. It was warm honeyed toned and filled with echoes of home and better days.

 

“Excuse me ma’am I don’t mean to be a bother.  But you sure look like you could use some help there, would you like a hand?”

 

It was on the tip of my tongue to say no then, to say I didn’t need any help, but who was I kidding? Of course I needed some help. Besides he was the first person that I had spoken to in three days. His was the first warm voice that had been directed my way in too long a time and suddenly I realized how much I missed that. I missed casual conversation and easy smiles. Those had gone with my Gerry to his grave almost six months ago. Six months that I thought, or perhaps hoped, would see the end of me too. The darkest, loneliest time of my life.

 

Looking up I had found myself face to face with a very handsome, dark haired young man with an open smile and a kind face. Somewhere in his thirties I guessed. He positively glowed with health and his blinding smile and good cheer was infectious. Yes, I thought. I needed a little of his light to drive away the shadows in my own heart, so gratefully I accepted his offer of help.

 

He turned out to be quite the expert at folding sheets, doing all the work at his own insistence while I was forced to do nothing more than stand in place and allow him to work around me. When I thanked him sincerely for his help and commented on his excellent technique I was pleasantly surprised to see a rosy glow tint his cheeks. When I teased a little more he admitted that being the youngest of six with four older sisters he had gotten a lot of practise. When the last load was finished, he insisted on carrying my now clean sheets to my car for me, despite my protestations that I could manage very well on my own, thank you very much. Then with a gentle chuckle and another blinding smile he took his leave, returning to his own chores. As I watched him walk away my heart felt lighter than it had in months.

 

The second time we met was a week later. He was laundering his own sheets this time. I don’t know why I approached him instead of nodding a polite greeting and then walking on by. That was my usual behaviour with practical strangers but somehow it felt wrong to ignore this young man; somehow it seemed almost a betrayal of his kindness. Perhaps it was as simple as the fact that his Texas accent reminded me of the golden days of my childhood, I don’t know. Perhaps it was the fact that somehow against all evident cruelty in the world I felt safe in his presence, that he soothed something inside me. I just knew that after our last meeting the weight of Gerry’s loss, while still painful and soul-destroying, seemed a little easier to bear.

 

So I offered to repay his kindness in like; by being his laundry partner for the day, and to my delight he rapidly agreed. When I cautiously mentioned that I hadn’t noticed him around the place before our first meeting the previous week, he explained that his washer at home was broken and awaiting a new part, so here he was. As we sat side by side in the busy Laundromat waiting for the dryers to finish, we chatted about inconsequential things. You know the kind of things you talk about to a stranger while you both take each others measure. In the beginning the weather and traffic featured heavily but soon we were trading tales of woe and joy. He made me laugh with tales of childhood indignities at the hands of his many sisters and I regaled him with tales of my Gerry and his hare-brained get-rich-quick schemes. It felt good to watch his expressive face light up with an odd mixture of delight and chagrin as he described the worst of the crimes perpetrated on him by his sisters. All I can say is those were very imaginative girls. I laughed as I hadn’t in a long, long time.

 

 

It became a sort of unofficial routine after that. Every Wednesday we would be there around noon. Neither of us mention it or made a big deal of it, but we’d always save the dryer next to our own for the other. I know it seems a cliché to say that the time just flies by, but in his presence it does. He opened my eyes again to the world and all the beauties in it that I have yet to experience. Despite or perhaps because of the horrors that he sees on a daily basis in his professional life, he is acutely aware of the fragility of life and fleeting nature of happiness. Yet still he has hope and in his conviction I find my own renewed. 

 

The fact that he no longer needs to come here lies unspoken between us, but is not an uncomfortable silence. So each week I wait, scanning the myriad faces that pass through the doors of this most unanticipated sanctuary.

 

 I’m waiting for my friend.

 

“Hold that thought whatever it is, sweetie, 'cause you sure do look pretty today.” He smiles when I pretend to bristle at the endearment, but secretly we both know I love it. “How you doing today?” he asks. “Boy, have I got some gossip for you! Do you remember how I told you about my sister’s husband’s cousin? Well you’ll never believe it but he just….” And he proceeds to tell me what is happening with his family, his job, his life and never once forgets to ask my opinion on things or ask how I am doing.  As I listen to my own laughter, I can scarcely remember the worn out person that I used to be.

 

Sitting with Nick, I allow myself to remember the first day we met and I thank god for this good, kind man. He has restored my faith, and renewed my hope; and all because he offered to help fold my sheets. Who would have though that so simple a gesture could save a life… a soul?

 

But save them he did.

 

 


End file.
